pantryslut

So, the weekend. This weekend I proved that I am a pervert. In case anyone had any doubt.

Because you see, this weekend was the kind of weekend that all those social conservatives who are shocked, shocked at our promiscuous lifestyle imagine we are having all the time. We don't. But sometimes the stars converge, or something. My weekend was all about sex. Kinky, nasty sex. And it was good.

I even missed both Cubs games for this. Thank God they won without me.
(I told Sunday night's participants about this, and they were profoundly sympathetic. "The Cubs in the post-season! That doesn't happen very often. Hard choice!" To quote. (Social conservatives probably never think of that one. 'cuz perverts aren't sports fans. Can't be. Baseball is too wholesome and all-American for there to be much overlap, right? Didn't Samuel R. Delany write a riff on this, the baseball players and the cocksuckers and how the baseball players never see the cocksuckes sharing their park? See? He would know.)

Intro #1:

G. said, at the end of all the activity on Sunday, "are you going to write all of this down in your blog-thing, whatever it is?"

I said, "Do you want me to?" After all, G. is an exhibitionist.

"That would be OK," he said, and smiled. So it is all his fault that I am writing any of this down at all.

Intro #2:

I spent the weekend acting as a utility top. This is like being a utility infielder -- you fill in where you're needed. You're not running the scene, you're helping out. It's a position I can now definitely say I enjoy a lot.

Summary:

On Saturday, I participated in a lesbian gang bang. On camera. On Sunday, I participated in a three-hour session of kidnapping and sexual torment -- G.'s birthday present. Other than Sunday morning brunch, those were my principal activities of the weekend. That's it. Sex, sex, sex. Planned sex. Scheduled sex. Anticipated sex.

Dirty Details:

Actually, the lesbian gang bang suffered from a bit of attrition, so we revised the scenario on the fly. It went like this: Naughty Catholic school girl (not me) is caught masturbating by the headmistress and a fellow student (me) and taken off to the dungeon to be punished. (What, not all Catholic schools have dungeons? Now you tell me.) She's spanked and fucked by the headmistress, while her little assistant watches and helps out.

Meanwhile, cameras film it all for posterity.

This was amateur porn -- I've done pro, which is the only reason why I mention it. So I didn't get paid. I did it for fun.

It was fun. I think some onlookers applauded when we were done.

The scene itself was actually pretty short. But the shoot was deep in San Francisco, and we had to pick up several people in the East Bay, plus drop off kids and babysitters and all that, so it took more or less all day to set up and then clean up. I enjoyed hanging out with the amateur porn folks, though I felt absurdly experienced, having actually been in front of a camera before and all, and reviewing pro porn for a living, and all of that.

I'm not proud. Pro porn is...problematic. And it's not like I'm some big-ass porn star -- I've done a couple solo scenes, that's all, and a non-sexual domination thing with a woman I met ten minutes before the shoot. You wanna know why so many S/M scenes on film are so wimpy, even when they use real players? This is why: you have ten minutes in the Green Room to negotiate with a stranger. You have no idea what her limits are. You have no idea how she acts when she's approaching those limits. You have no idea whether those "No's" are for the sake of the camera, or if they're for you. So you err way on the safe side, yes you do. Unless you're Jamie Gillis. But I digress.

So that was Saturday.

Sunday, Steven snuck off to the Steamworks after delivering me to a house for G.'s birthday kidnapping. G. recruited about six of his friends to top him mercilessly for three hours. He wanted to be blindfolded, restrained, and then sexually tormented for as long as we could stand it.

When I arrived, they were washing out the basement room and laying down mats and sheets. The basement room was a good size, with low ceilings, and it wasn't musty or dank, just dark and a bit dusty.

G. and I just met a few weeks ago at

dryadgrl's birthday party. I guess he had fun, because he immediately asked if I might want to be a part of this occasion.

A chance to torture someone sexually for three hours -- with the help of some other fine people so I don't have to do it all myself? You bet I'm there.

G. needed six people to keep him occupied. He wasn't a bit submissive -- one of his requests was no gag, so that he could say whatever he wanted. But we wore him down. I think. I get the impression he got what he wanted.

And, uh, I certainly had a good time.

Note to

zille (who probably won't read this for months): I don't always use the "cat/mom" voice when I top. No, I'm not always that nurturing. Sometimes I'm just mean.

One other reason I liked playing with G.: He's strong. Athletic. A big boy (you get the impression that I like them? I like them). He'd fight, try to physically resist when we spread his thighs or held his arms down. But once he was tied down, he didn't have the leverage. It was a struggle, but I could spread his legs with mine, or hold his arm down while I bit his nipples. I like it when they're not *quite* strong enough to overpower me.

I think the boy is still jerking off to it a day or so later. So am I.